Fickle Game
by lordelannette
Summary: The world was a game, as his father told him, and everyone had their parts to play. But for this small moment, the threat on her life was too much for him to ignore. So for once in his life, he allowed himself to have a glitch in the game- he would finally drop his mask that he put up all those years ago and save her.


**First One-Shot i've ever done so forgive me if it isn't up to par with the others. I honestly don't even know why I wrote this, lol, but it kinda just happened and now it's here so...enjoy?**

 **Fickle Game**

He had been caught at the very beginning.

He had **known** , deep, _deep_ down where the tiny sliver of his heart was, that he loved her.

But he couldn't act upon it, for more than enough reasons to count. He had found love where it wasn't suppose to be.

He had figured that there was something wrong with him, that something hadn't processed correctly when he was in his mother's womb but as far as he knew, he was a perfect healthy pureblood. His magic showed at an early age, he had been taught by the very best, and lived up to the Malfoy name by all means. As he was suppose to.

The only problem was that Malfoy's weren't suppose to feel. _Yet_ the second he had laid eyes on her he had **known**.

When he first caught sight of her bushy hair, he knew he was enamored. The way the dim candlelight from the oaf of a half-giant's lantern danced across her face, he knew he had found the one. She was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that his mother drowned herself in but more like a natural elegance that he had never seen before- the kind that people didn't need to brag about or shove into other's faces. People would be able to just _**see**_ it, in it's rawest, true form. True beauty.

 _She_ was a true beauty.

Even when the blasted sorting hat shouted "Gryffindor!" and he watched her join the tumorous red and gold emblems that were stitched on the robes of the others at the table, he knew she was special. She didn't look like a Gryffindor though, not to him at least. There was an air of self-righteousness around her for sure but he could practically feel the pure ambition that poured from her. It shone brightly through her honey orbitals, cascading across everyone in her path, and he couldn't help but wonder if the hat even considered putting her in Slytherin, with _him_.

It would've been nice.

He had known it was coming before he even sat down on that wobbly stool. Everyone that looked at him knew who he was, who his family was dating generations back, and he had to ignore Dumbledore's slight frown that he could spot from the second he walked in. He was, after all, the spitting image of every Malfoy that had ever stepped foot inside this damn school and simply because he was a Malfoy, the heir of one of the most prominent pureblood families, he had his role to play. His road had been paved for him long before he entered the world just as it would be for his children. The world was a game, as his father told him, and everyone had their parts to play- had their jobs to do even if the rest of society didn't appreciate or understand them.

He could vividly remember feeling as if he had the worst job in the world. No one laughed around him, or told him secrets, or even shook his hand because he was a cruel, mean boy that was nothing more than a disaster waiting to happen. He was a bully, the leader of the pack, and a very successful one at that. He had everything, **everything** that one could ever want- money, a title, _power-_ it just wasn't enough.

But the very second he saw her, Hermione Granger, he knew it was _she_ that was missing.

She had everything that he didn't. All those many years ago, he had seen the compassion she had when she helped that miserable sod Longbottom locate his frog on the train, the quick ability she had to laugh and smile with the other Gryffindors that had instantly surrounded her in a warm welcome, and the merry twinkle that Dumbledore gave her as she joined his former house. In those few seconds, she had accomplished everything that he had never been able to do.

He didn't help people.

He didn't smile at anyone.

And he would never, in a million lifetimes, get an approving nod from the fool of a Headmaster that sat there drinking out of the golden goblet.

He didn't know how, but somewhere down the short road as he walked to the Slytherin table, that adoration he held for her turned into such a hate that he had never felt before. Not even Potter was able to ruffle him up as she had and he hadn't even said a single word to the girl! She had lodged herself, unknowingly, in his eleven year old mind and stayed there, burrowing a warm cocoon that was strictly off limits even to himself.

But not to Potter and Weasley. They had made her the third member of their inner circle and it appeared that it wouldn't be expanding any further. It was disgusting how he had to watch the three of them flitter around together, laughing and smiling with their private jokes and hushed conversations. He hated how the three of them fit together, how _perfect_ they looked and how Dumbledore watched their every movement with his sickly sweet smile.

It wasn't fair. He had been the one to first spot her potential, not Potter and Weasley, yet there they were, taking her away from him until he could no longer breath in her direction.

He remembered how he stay awake at night, staring at the emerald green curtains that hung from his bed, telling himself that he didn't care. Because as he had been told since he could ever first comprehend words, Malfoy's didn't care about anyone but themselves. Why would he care about Hermione Granger? The answer was simple: He didn't.

After that night, the first time he had ever seen her, his mask slipped on and he insulted her and her bodyguards every chance he got. He ignored the pang he felt in his chest every time he called her a Mudblood, or saw the tears run down her face, or simply glared at him as if he were a parasite that sucked the life out of everything.

Soon enough he learned how to ignore it, just as he ignored the feelings he knew he felt for her. He could play the game just how he needed to; detached and unforgiving.

And that's what he did- he molded himself into the cast that his forefathers had sculpted.

But life, especially that of a wizard, is never that simple.

Xxx

He dragged his stare away from her as he heard his aunt walk away, getting too caught up in the past that he hated with every fiber of his being. There was too many things that he could've changed that would've altered their present time. There were too many wishes that he wanted to chance on shooting stars. It was painful to have hope especially when there was a Dark Mark branded on his forearm and the girl he could never have wilting in front of him as Aunt Bella ordered someone to call _him_ , the Dark Lord that he had been forced to serve.

He could still feel the irritation that was begging to be scratched from underneath his sleeve where his skin had been tarnished by that bloodthirsty maniac.

But he couldn't let his thoughts distract him, not when the Golden Trio were seconds from being executed within the very walls of his home.

In that moment, he wanted to be _younger_. He wanted to be his eleven year old self and befriend Hermione before he was dragged away to the snake pit and never allowed to see light again.

He wanted to be _stronger_ so that he could confront his parents and scream at them that he was in love with the Princess of Gryffindor, one of the members of the Golden Trio, the very girl who managed to steal his heart before she ever said a sodding word to him!

He wanted to yell at them for _ruining_ his chances at the very beginning, for allowing him to fall from the start. They had been the ones to morph his ideals, his beliefs, and make him look like a fool to the rest of the world.

He wanted to be _quicker_ , to grab her and apparate them as far as he could take them. He knew he would have to lock on to Potter and Weasley as well because she would never leave without them. Damn her bleeding Gryffindor heart! He doubted that he would be able to do all of that before any of his family members sent an Avada his way. He was fast enough to get into trouble and not fast enough to get away, funny how the world was cruel enough to limit his abilities in just the right way.

Even still, with her being an arm's length away, he was desperate to get closer. She looked physically fine, as far as his silver eyes could see but he wanted to search every inch of her body for even the slightest scratch. He wished he could protect her like Potter and Weasley had done after all these years. Hell, he had been the one to get her into trouble in the first place. He had made his personal vendetta to make her life a living nightmare when they were in school and he doubted that she was one to forget easily.

He wanted her. Oh how he wanted her like he had never wanted anything before. Nothing came close to the way he needed her even if she hadn't the slightest clue of the feelings her harbored for her. He wished he could feel her skin even if it were for the faintest of seconds. He could still remember the brief feeling of her fist as it had collided with his nose. That's how mad she had driven him. That small, minute contact that he had shared with her in their third year had meant everything to him. Despite it being an act of violence on her part, it was still probably the warmest human contact he had ever felt in his life. But once he had gotten the feel of her soft skin against his face, he had been reeled back in. He had to watch every hug she gave Potter and Weasley, every time Longbottom touched her shoulder for assistance, and even the time Viktor Krum had his hands on her waist. Those fools didn't understand what a delicacy she was.

But it wasn't her fault that he stayed his distance. It was his. Despite being in the same room as her, he still felt as if she were worlds apart.

He had been the one to take the road paved out for him, not her. She had taken the high road, coming from the Muggle world into his, and made the most for herself. She didn't have to rely on a fortune, or a name- she only needed herself. Potter and Weasley had to know that by know, surely. They would be nothing without her and his side would have already won.

 _His side._

It was no wonder why things were so dark and dreary between them after all the words, only insults, that they exchanged between each other. She didn't understand that he did it just so that she would give him the time of day and that he hadn't meant the majority of the bullshit he threw at her. But what was done, was done and he knew in his heart and head that he'd never take back the things he said. She wouldn't believe him even if he did. After all, he was nothing but the evil Malfoy who was a heartless son of a bitch.

She didn't know how wrong she was and she never would because he had his role to play and she had hers.

But for this small moment, the threat on her life was too much for him to ignore. He couldn't just stand there and let his aunt torture her until she was killed in sympathy, if that was even considered. So for once in his life, he allowed himself to have a glitch in the game- he would drop his mask that he put up all those years ago.

It surprised even himself that when he internally screamed out for Dobby the small house elf came to their rescue. He had threw those half-arsed curses at Potter and let the scarhead grab ahold of his wand without much resistance.

He didn't care when he saw their chandelier almost crush his aunt after Dobby had snapped his fingers and sent the thing crashing, and he didn't care that Weasley wrapped his arms around Hermione the second she was out of harm's way. As long as she got out alive… He didn't care that she saw all of his emotion on his face when their eyes locked seconds before she apparated.

However, the second they were gone he felt it all come crashing down on him- the first time he laid on her, their wasted years at Hogwarts, her leaving him once again…that look of knowing that she gave him that somehow struck him to his very core as if she knew his true feelings...

But he was already back into his stony facade, cursing out loud, pretending to be appalled that Potter, the Mudblood, and the Blood Traitor managed to escape due to the fucking elf. He knew he played his part well when the adults turned away from him, diving into their own unleashed fury.

He could only stare at the spot where she had been for such the smallest of a moment. He could still feel her magic calling out to his. But what was done, was done. He had played the part that he had expected of _himself_ , no one else. He could hide it in his dreams for no one else to find.

If only he were younger…

He was old enough to know that he'd probably end up dying in this war but not young enough to forget the threat of playing this damn game.

It's all just a fickle game.

Life's the fickle game he, and everyone else, had to play.

 **xxx**

 **Thoughts?**

 **I could possibly see myself adding another chapter or two to this...but that's going to be undecided until I see how well this is interpreted.**

 **But really, how did I do?**

 **Oh and to clear things up...the torture scene didn't happen. It was before Harry and Ron were taken to the dungeons so that may be bad news for Luna and Olivander, oops.**


End file.
